Mafia Love
by NephilimKyla
Summary: Clary Fray, a nineteen-year-old student and waitress lives a normal life, but with an indifferent family; considering the father she never met is the Boss of the Morgenstern Mafia. When Clary meets a certain golden-eyed beauty who works for the Herondale Mafia, and whose job is to protect Clary from a threat, will a love spark? More dangerous then the mafia itself?
1. Chapter 1

Mafia Love

**CHAPTER 1**

**CLARY'S POV**

_I woke from lurid shouting coming from downstairs. I could hear mommy's angry voice, getting louder and louder. And another voice. A voice I didn't recognise, but from the deep tone, I could guess it was a man. I couldn't make out their words. Just muffled screams and shouts echoing off of the apartment walls. As the voices rose and a few more unknown ones started bellowing, a vigorous crash wailed coming from- what I assumed- the living room. __**Mommy?! **__More shouting ascended and a torturous high-pitched yell started. That made me jump. So much I leapt out of bed and flung my bedroom door open. The hallway was dark, but a faint light came from the direction of the living room and kitchen; the bawling and shouting extremely louder than before. "Mommy." I whimpered, knowing full well that she couldn't hear me. There was another crash, making my legs scurry to my brothers room next door to mine. When I opened the door, I found Jonathan sitting on the edge of his bed, quilts pulled back, wearing grey pyjama shorts and a dark blue cotton t-shirt. Jonathan's eyes swiftly turned to mine, sad, angry, and once he realised it was his little sister they boiled down to a calm and weary protectiveness. "J-Jon? What's g-going on? I want mommy." I snivelled. Jonathan turned his body fully so he was facing my direction, and extended his arms. "Clare. Come here." I rushed over to his welcoming embrace, tucking my head under Jonathan's chin as he wound his arms around me. _

"_Jon. W-what's going on? I want mommy. I need to see if she's okay." I wept._

"_Clary. Come on Clare-bear, don't cry. Everything's okay. Its ok-" Jonathan paused from gently wiping my tears away, from yet another round of deafening yelling and another scream coming from our mother. Jon quickly but with care, placed me beside him and stood up, alert and clearly angry with the violent expression on his pale face. _

"_Clary. Stay here, okay. I won't be a sec. I need to go and check what's happening." Before I could answer, Jon hurriedly kissed my forehead and rushed out of his bedroom door. I sat stock still from shock, 5 seconds ticking by, until my stubborn self, bolted out of the room and into the open planned living room where 15 people stood. All of them must of realised my presence, because the uproar almost instantly halted. Everyone's eyes rested on me. Mommy was standing directly from me with Uncle Luke, tears streaming down her red face. But what caught my attention was the man standing in the centre of the living space, wearing a sharp and elegant, black suit. But what caught my attention the most was the resemblance. Of this man. And my brother. _

_They had the same white-blonde hair, surprisingly in a long style just like my Jon's; dark chocolate- almost black eyes; high cheeks bones and square jaw with a little stubble rimming the edges. I've never seen this man before, but Jonathan must of because he darted toward me covering my body with his own, shielding me from everyone's gaze. "Clary, I told you to wait in my room. Go back. You'll get hurt-"_

"_Clary?" I peered behind Jon's arm, finding the man kneeling down, a sad expression on his face. "Clary, its me." The man said._

_Jonathan hid my face. "Stay away from her." He growled. I've never heard my brother speak like that. So livid. _

_I cringe as two burly men start toward Jonathan, my heart rate jumping over maximum speed as I realise what the men are holding. Even a six- year-old like myself knew what it was. The guns were a metallic black; glossy and ready to shoot. _

"_Jonathan," My mommy's stern voice interrupted the scene playing. "Jon, come here." _

"_Mom! No! Clar-" Jonathan starts, but mommy soon cuts him off._

"_Jonathan. Please sweetie. Come here." Mommy sniffles, but her eyes are strong and confident. She knows the men won't hurt me unless we do what they say. And somehow, I'm not afraid. Jonathan obeys, walking to mom and standing in front of her but turning to face me. Mom wraps her pale freckled arms around Jonathan's shoulders, lightly kissing the top of his head._

_Turning my attention back to the man who looked identical to my brother, his eyes were still fixed on me. _

"_Clary?" He asked._

"_Y-yes?" I pull the slightly too big sleeves of my woolly pyjama top down._

"_Come over here." The man held out his big hand, his eyes calm and in awe. I flash a glance at mommy, and she nods her head at me. __**Mommy wouldn't let me walk over to this man if she didn't think it was safe. Or would she?**_

_I make my way over to the unfamiliar figure. Even though the man was kneeling down, he still towered over me- which wasn't that hard. I was quite short for my age._

_I stood in front of him. Close enough so I could give him a hug or place a hand on his suit cladded shoulder. The man studied my face, taking his time noting my vibrant red curls and large green eyes. He smiled. A large perfect-toothed smile. "Hey, Clary." He says, extending his hand. He brushed a few stray curls and tucks it behind my ear, then with both hands places them on my freckled cheeks. _

"_Do you know who I am?" He asks keeping his gaze in fine-line with mine._

"_N-no. But you look a lot like Jon. Why do you look like Jon?" I sweetly ask. _

_The man chuckles, and I can see the love and awe in his eyes. __**But what about all the commotion only minutes ago? Why was everyone shouting?**_

"_Yes. We do look alike don't we?," The man's eyes travel to Jonathan's who scowls back. The man looks back to me. He stares at me for a while, his eyebrow furrowing like he was thinking hard; like I do when I concentrate. "That's because I'm Jonathan's daddy." He states quietly, gauging my eyes for my reaction. I furrow my brows. "B-but. But who's my daddy?" I timidly question._

_The man smiles a sad smile. "I am." He says._

"_But everyone at school- their daddy's live with them. Sometimes they pick them up from school and- and last month, it was 'Take your daddy to school' day and everyone in my class brought their daddy's in and the daddy's talked about their jobs and-"_

"_That's enough." Mommy buts in._

"_But mommy. I-" _

"_No, Clary. Come here. Everyone will be leaving-"_

"_NO!" The man yelled._

_The man stands up and a few of his goons step beside him, looking awfully intimidating standing at their over 6 foot height. "You will not take my children away from me, Jocelyn. They're as much as my children as they are yours! You know you can't take them away from me!" The man clenches and unclenches his tight fists._

"_Where were you when Jonathan was born?! WHERE WERE YOU, VALENTINE?!" Mom screams at the man, whose name is- what did she say?- Valentine? My daddy? "The whole reason I left was because of you- the Mafia- all of it! You really think that's a safe place for a baby? I was nearly shot from one of the Idrisian men while pregnant with Jonathan. All you did was insist I was safer with you. NOT A CHANCE! There is no way in this world, you'll be taking my children with you." Mommy puts Jonathan aside Uncle Luke, who pushes Jonathan defensively behind him. Valentine watches the movements like a hawk. "I left when I was pregnant with Clary because I wanted her and Jonathan to be safe," Mommy's voice quietens a level, "a defenceless child does not belong in your world, Valentine. It's not safe. You're not safe." Mom lowers her head._

"_Come here, baby." Mommy speaks to me. "These people are just about to-"_

"_Like hell we are!" Valentine bellows just as I took to steps toward mommy. _

"_If I'm leaving my children are coming with me! Blackwell, get my children. Now." He shouts._

_Blackwell comes up behind me and hoists me over his shoulder, his shoulder painfully digging into my ribs, making me cry out._

"_No. You are not taking them!" Mom roars, running over towards Blackwell with me on his shoulder. Mom try's to yank me down, crying my name over and over again. Tears are spilling a waterfall down my cheeks as I cry out for mommy, and through my hazy vision, I can see Luke and a few of his friends make a protective circle around Jonathan. _

"_Let her go!" Mom shrieks. _

_Blackwell pushes mommy to the floor, knocking her side onto the dining room table. _

"_Mommy!" I squawk, pulling out of Blackwell's hold with all might. Mommy stands up swiftly wiping a trail of blood from her forehead, tears running down the side of her button nose. The scene behind me was terrifying behind my six-year-old eyes. Punching and kicking; the pounding with flesh on flesh._

_Then I hear mom's shriek and yell; words that scare me._

"_SHOOT HIM! SHOOT HIM!" _

_There's a loud gunshot, and then a deafly shrill of a scream comes from mommy's mouth. And then I feel the pain. Coming from my side. Blackwell's face turns white, his eyes ghostly as he lowers me to the floor. I cry in pain as I feel the floor come to contact with my back, the pressure searing into my side. My mind whirls around with answers to why my side hurts, but I know the answer. I just wish it wasn't true. I then see two pale faces; mommy's with tears rushing down her red cheeks and Valentine's- daddy's- white as paper with eyes watery from tears yet to fall. _

"_Clary. Clary, baby. Come on baby you're okay. You're okay. You're going to be okay." Mommy whispers while stroking my curls from my face. I watch my mommy's green eyes and Valentine's coal ones watch my still form until I couldn't hold my gaze open anymore. The last thing I hear is my mums heart wrenching wails as darkness takes over me-_

I gasp heavily as I instantly sit up in bed, the dream I dreamt on unwanted replay. The flashback of that day was 12 years ago, but still haunted me. The only physical reminder, the scar on my side where my ribs meet. That day was all but blurry. A haze of images. But the images were still gruesome. And I wish I could forget.

I push the quilt back from my legs, the shock of the cold hard wood floor seeping through my toes.

The clock on my night stand read 7.00am. An hour to get ready for work; shower and dress. Hopefully today will be better. Hopefully.


	2. Chapter 2

**IMPORTANT-ISH NOTICE!**

**Hey, my Angels!**

**It's been a while. I find it absolutely over whelming from how I got to about 8 reviews in 24 hours of posting the first chapter of **_**Mafia Love**_**. Thank you so much, and I love your enthusiasm.**

**There was a question from one of you guys, who were a little confused about who Clary lived with, in the first chapter.**

**Clary lives with Jocelyn. She has never met her father (Valentine) due to the fact Jocelyn left him and the Mafia when she was pregnant with Clary. Sine Jocelyn left Valentine, Valentine has been trying to get in contact to see Jonathan and Clary- but Jocelyn always declined or made sure Valentine couldn't find her by moving.**

**So really… Valentine is kinda the good guy if you think about it. All he wants is to see and have his kids. But he's not all sunshine and rainbows. You'll see that throughout this Fanfic.**

**Thank you again so, so, so, so, so much for reading and please, please, please review.**

**Enjoy the this chapter!**

**-Kyla X**

**CHAPTER 2**

**CLARY'S POV**

_Previously:_

_I gasp heavily as I instantly sit up in bed, the dream I dreamt on unwanted replay. The flashback of that day was 12 years ago, but still haunted me. The only physical reminder, the scar on my side where my ribs meet. That day was all but blurry. A haze of images. But the images were still gruesome. And I wish I could forget. I push the quilt back from my legs, the shock of the cold hard wood floor seeping through my toes. The clock on my night stand read 7.00am. An hour to get ready for work; shower and dress. Hopefully today will be better. Hopefully._

Walking over the my wicker basket, I peel off my cotton top and shorts, damp with sweat from the dream-flashback that plagued my unconscious mind only minutes ago. _Just forget about it, Clary. You always do._ Sighing quietly, I pull down my panties, disposing them and my pyjamas into the wicker basket is well.

"Clary?" My mom's gentle and known voice calls outside my bedroom door. I wrap my arms around my naked form; a reflex.

"Yeah, mom?" I call back, my cheeks burning a little thinking about having a conversation with my mother while I'm stark naked.

"Clary, hun. Simon called. He wanted to know what time you finished work so you two could catch up and have a coffee later."

"Okay. Thanks, mom. I'll ring him after I've had a shower." I turn towards the bathroom door, an en suite which was connected to my room.

"You're welcome. And by the way. I'll be working a later shift at the Art Studio tonight. I won't be finishing until 10 and Jonathan won't finish at the gym until 9."

"That's fine, mom. I'll most likely be in bed by the time you get home. Are you leaving now?"

"Yeah. I'll see you tomorrow. I love you, Clary."

"Love you, too." I call back. Stepping into the shower, I turn the metal handle to the centre, a clear mixture of hot and cold water, making the cascading liquid comfortable. Washing my hair with strong scented shampoo, I rinse the suds away, conditioning the thick, wet curls of my hair.

I grab the mango scented shower gel, rubbing away the sweat and grime, my fine-boned hands sliding down my arms, chest, side- then comes across the ragged piece of skin which is the physical reminder- aside from mental- of what had happened those 12-years-ago. _The blood. Mommy's crying. The ambulance. Waking up with several wires connected from life-saving machines to myself. Mommy telling me she loved me. And that she was sorry. Over and over again._

"That's enough." I chide myself, carefully walking out of the shower and grabbing a white fluffy towel. I wrap the fabric around and under my arms, the unexpected chill making a dusting of goose bumps on my arms. Pushing the shower screen back to its open position, I pad over to the vanity-sink, where a large, bulky mirror hung, the glass steamed up from my shower. I wipe the remnants of mist away, revealing my damp and oval face; pale with a scattering of freckles covering my cheeks and slightly on my nose.

Growing up, people were often to mention, while around my mom, how our resemblance was startling. The matching bud-green eyes with specks of hazel if you looked close enough. But the signature red flame of curls was what both Jocelyn and me were famous for.

Although we did have some variances. Whilst mom stood at her 5 foot 6 frame, I had just reached 5 foot 4 at 16. Three-years-later, and now I've stopped growing and had barely reached 5 foot 4 and a half. But when I deeply thought about it, I would rather than some girls- who would want to look prettier, which I all but wanted too- I would rather be taller.

That didn't go for my brother Jonathan though. Jonathan who towered over at 6 foot 4 with white blonde hair and coffee-mug eyes; a cheeky smile which signatures his elegant and sculptured jaw line and defined cheek bones. He looked nothing like our mother. But the man who I barely remembered. Only through hazy and unclear flashbacks and dreams.

_Why do you do this to yourself?_

Mentally kicking myself, I walk back into my room after brushing my teeth, securing the towel under my arms as I hunt for my waitress uniform; a black skater skirt that slightly pleated to just above my knee and black tights; a white blouse, which I tucked in- my name badge rested on my breast bone; and a pair of black flats. But what I more frequently wore with my bosses irritation- black converse.

Nonetheless, I grabbed my usual uniform- including the converse- and dressed, sashaying into a matching pair of purple cotton panties and bra. Dressing had only token me 4 minutes, but what took most of the hour getting ready for work was my hair. I never really bothered with makeup; except a little mascara. My hair could take up to 45 minutes to dry and then I would have to apply _foxy gurls _ hair product to tame my wild locks.

The long 35 minutes of part blow-drying my hair and applying the hair product was up and as quickly as I could, I grabbed my messenger bag, throwing in my smartphone, purse, keys and sketch pad and pencils for my break- I was all set. Running dangerously fast down the stairs, swarming through the kitchen door to find Jonathan sitting on one of the stools at the kitchen island, wearing only cotton pyjama pants, his chest bare of anything but the clear vision of his bulging muscles.

"Morning, my love." Jonathan smirks round a mouth fall of cornflakes, a trail of milk dribbling down his chin. _How attractive._

Laughing, I make a b-line towards the coffee maker, grabbing myself my favourite mug and pouring a cup full of my brain-awakener. Sighing as I take a sip of the bitter sweetness, I take a seat next to Jon.

"Morning, _sweetie._" Mocking Jonathan, he gets up from the breakfast bar, smirking his usual smirk, but not before kissing my cheek like he does every morning. Jon has always been one of those brothers; protective, coming to the point where it was overly so and unreasonable.

But I loved him for it. It wasn't like I had a father figure in my life; Jon was all I had. And at that moment, the favourite man in my life started the washing up.

"Clary, I've got work late today and so does mom. Is it okay that you make dinner tonight? I'll won't be home from the gym 'till about 10, tonight and mum won't be home 'till 9, so don't worry about heating anything up for us. You'll most likely be in bed anyway."

After placing a few cleanly washed plates on the drying wrack, Jonathan turned around. His dark eyes, so familiar, were laced with anxiety. And I knew why. Ever since _that_ night. When I had been… shot, Jonathan's over secureness had birthed, and I always gathered from that accident that he guessed I didn't like being on my own; he guessed correctly.

I've never been able to admit it; at least not to myself. But I hate being left alone. Even if I'm at home and the doors are locked and I'm perfectly safe, no intruders aloud in. Or even if I'm in the living room and my mom's in the kitchen and Jonathan's in his room playing on his X-box, I would join either of them, scared of the feeling of being isolated and forlorn. That somebody will come for me… again.

"Yes, that's fine." I lie, and my brother doesn't look convinced either, "Seriously, Jon. I'm fine. I finish work at 7. And I'm meeting Simon after work." Jonathan's concern lessens, clarified in his now bright gaze.

"Good." He cheers. "I haven't seen the nerd in a while. Maybe a nice game of GTA will bring him over more."

"Ha, ha. Very funny." I chuckle a little, mocking Jon with a soft punch to the gut. Pulling out the plug, the drain gurgling from dirty dish water, Jonathan grabs his _Nike_ duffel bag and plants a gentle kiss on my forehead.

"I know I am, Clare-bear," He smiles and grabs his keys from the bowl next to the front door. "Be careful when walking home." He says, and I go to mention I'll be fine because Simon will be walking me home- probably, anyway- but he beat me to the punch when he interjects,

"_Even if_ Simon is with you." And then opens the front door and heads to work. But not before looking back at me one last time.

"I love you, Clary. You know I do. It's my job to keep you safe." The door was now 20 centre metres from closing when he says again,

"I love you, Clary," with a smile.

And then the door closes with a gentle _click._

And I'm alone, and cowardly and weak of me, I feel the gradual feeling of abandon.

"I love you, too." I mutter- to absolutely no one.

Just before leaving the house for work I rang Simon asking about meeting up for a coffee after work. And of course he agreed.

Simon was a childhood friend. More of another brother as we were that close. The kind of close where they sneak into your bedroom at night when your mom is asleep and your very over protective and-would-kill-you-if-you-broke-into-his-little-sister's-room-in-the-middle-of-the-night-brother.

But it was nothing like that. I could always talk to Simon. About almost anything, and he was always there for me. Literally. When Simon got accepted into Harvard when finishing our Senior Year in high school and left for his first semester that year, my Grandmother died from a unexpected heart attack, and I was in hell. I didn't go out for the whole weekend after her pronounced death. Didn't speak. Didn't eat. And only got a few hours of sleep driven from crying so hard which had taken all my energy. Not until only on the fourth day of my isolation did Simon come all the way from university to come to me. I remember that day when Simon came to my unexpected rescue. And the guilt that came with it; the guilt for Simon coming all the way from Massachusetts to New York when he had only started his first semester of Uni. But then the immense love I felt for the guy was clarified even more. Though the immeasurable amount of guilt there; and as it should be; I deserved it. After all, he did come all the way from Boston to be comfort my grieving.

And I never knew- and still don't know- how to repay him at the least. I even offered to pay half the bill off of the car he was renting while in Boston. _ Then laughed in my face telling me I was 'the craziest ginger he had ever met.' _

Nonetheless, he must still love me, because after the half hour conversation over the phone before I left for work, we arranged to catch up after my shift.

And I really couldn't wait. I needed the comfortable and familiar visit of my favourite manga-lovin'-transformer-hoarder-and-fanboying-nerd.

Walking in Autumn was a killer. The breeze was a death sentence; icy and lingering. Even wearing the vintage, dark green parka jacket and navy blue cable-knit beanie, I was freezing. My part time job at Rococo was for 'backup money'- as my mom would put it- for myself. Rococo was a well-known family friendly café in the deep end of Brooklyn. My wages wouldn't do much to help pay the bills, but, I wouldn't have to- even if I bugged and bugged my mom to let me pay for it; she wouldn't even let me pay her for living in the apartment now I was over 18. Claiming that I've lived in our home for my whole life and it will always be that way as long as I wanted- and that I didn't have to pay the bills when I was 8 so I'm not starting now.

But, without my mother's knowledge, when she would get her pay check every month I would sneak in a few hundred on the same date she would get her occupational wages- as if the money I was giving was coming from her monthly wages. _Clever, huh?_

In any case, we did well with money anyway. Mom worked as a professor in the Art Department at NYU. She loved her job; she loved art. I remember from such a young age, vague moments when I would recall mom with a pencil pouched in her pinned up hair, or vivid and vibrant splattered canvases all over our living room space and office, or _always_ having a paintbrush in her hand.

I gather that's where I got my interest from. I loved art. Specifically sketching. But once in a while I would grab one of mom's many blank canvases and pallets, squirting a few variety of colours and grabbing many brushes and letting my artistic juices surge from my hand. And it had worked a masterpiece once or twice; like the New York City landscape I painted for my mom's birthday 2-years-ago. She loved it that much she hung it up in the living room.

Lugged out of my musing by the noisy _honking _of cab horns, I cross the busy road, praying to the lord almighty that I don't get run over.

I thankfully get across without an injury, stepping onto the pavement with other busy New Yorkers.

I smiled. I didn't know why. Even if there was dreadful weather and I was still a little nervous about being on my own at home later, the change in season gave me comfort. Or maybe it was the fresh air?

However, that soon came to an end when I'm shoved backwards, nearly tripping over my left undone converse. I turn around to see the person who knocked me, only to see what I could only guess was a guy- from the broad shoulders and lean build- wearing black jeans which were tight enough to accent the strangers muscular thighs and a black hoodie with the hood pulled up hiding the guy's head.

_Jerk._

After tying my shoe lace as quick as possible, I start my journey to work, hoping not to get knocked over again. Thankfully that wasn't the case. I walked down Carlton Street, pulling my beanie tighter over my head as the sub-zero breeze threatened to give me the flu. And that's when I felt it. I don't know how people feel it, but the awareness of someone staring at me, their eyes burning holes into the back of my skull. Quickly, trying not seem suspicious, I turn around, only finding a few pedestrians walking down the main streets where all the tourist points were. But then my eyes catch a flash of gold, and then a black hooded head lowering walking to a halt and looking in a shop window. Which turned out to be a florist. But that's not what stopped me in shock the most. What stopped me in shock was that the hooded figure was the one who shoved me earlier- at least 15 minutes ago. Plus, though trying not to be judgmental, seeing a guy wearing all black, and kind of looking like a mug, who was looking into _a florist shop_, was not something you see every day. My heart plummeted a little at the thought lingering in the back of my head. A over dramatic one at that.

_Don't over think, Clary. Maybe the guy's getting flowers for… a girlfriend. Or a… sick relative._

Leaving the wondering at that, I start walking again. Then 5 minutes later, I stop again to see the stranger coming to another halt, who starts looking through a shop window. Then it becomes a cycle. For the next 15 minutes I stop 6 times to see the stranger come to a freeze and turn to look through a shop window.

And each time my uneasiness sky-rockets, and I know, deep down. That this isn't normal. That something is going on. And I'm scared.

Which leads to me turning around a final time, to see the black cladded stranger coming to a stop _again, _and the looking through a shop window. But this time, the shop the guy looks into catches my attention.

_What the hell?_ The last shop the guy had been looking in were… PG: Pet stores, a cosmetic store, even Forever 21. But this time, I nearly choke on a surprised and anxious chuckle. _Ann Summers. _The stranger is looking into the shop window of _Ann Summers. _The sexy lingerie shop… and he was staring at a certain product… of black lacy panties and matching bra.

The sickening scene bringing even more sickening scenarios into my head, I turn to walk again so I could stop hurting myself with worry and fright, but, lucky me and not that surprising, I trip over the uneven concrete and fall flat out on my ass.

_That's gonna leave a mark._

And unluckily, the havoc of my fall made me push over a line of trash cans to fall and roll down a side alley. Which brought the stranger's attention to me. Fully. I couldn't see his face. But I could make out a chiselled and handsome chin- _if you could have a handsome chin. _There was a flash of gold is well. Maybe his hair.

_Why are you memorizing his looks, Clary?! This creep is following you! He might be a rapist or a serial killer or a nutter from an asylum! Get out of there! Now!_

My sub conscious brings me to my present thoughts, and I fight my legs to move.

Standing and grabbing my fallen messenger bag, I make a run for it, my black converse slapping against the pavement. And then there's a sync of heavy booted feet running, and I know it's the creep. Panicking, peeking over to the stage of having a coronary, I run as fast as my little legs can take me, until my shoulders slump in gratitude as I violently stop in front of Rococo café. But when I turn my frantic eyes to the street and the crazy weirdo who was running after me… there no one there.

My shift at the café went by quickly, and saying bye to the manager, I pull on my beanie and head to Java Jones. Java Jones was another café type hang out. Which brought back many memories; I used to hang out a lot here with Simon.

When I walk through the door, the most credited heat wafts through my layers of clothing, and I almost instantly feel like I'm melting in a sauna. Pulling off my coat and beanie, I notice Simon immediately. His mop of chocolate waves- which his mom had nagged and nagged about the last seven years to cut all off, but stubborn Simon held a grudge- curled over his forehead and just slightly over his ears. It was still weird seeing him without glasses. He had gotton contacts Senior Year- replacing his hipster glasses. I remember the day Simon came to my apartment asking for help; he couldn't put his contacts in. It took nearly 10 attempts before we had slid the flimsy plastic into place. And each attempt either me and Simon had poked his eye, which made Simon cry in frustration or pain, In didn't know which.

Now though, I spotted through his thick dark blue pea coat, a _Transformers, Autobots _logo. I smiled at the familiar clothing. Not a lot has changed.

Simon notices me before I get to the booth, opening his arms, and I gladly walk in them. _He smells the same._ Still fresh and like his favourite fruity body wash.

"Oh my gosh, Clary," Simon squeezes me to his chest, "I've missed you so much." Finally letting go, Simon sits back down handing me a cup steaming with coffee. _Oh, he knows me so well._

"I've missed you to, Si."

At that moment, I felt so lucky for Simon to be hear, talking about Uni, me talking about how my mom and Jonathan were doing, and then… I told him about the creep who was following me on my way to work.

Simons bright round eyes furrowed in concern as I replayed on what happened.

"Oh my god, Clare. Y-you should of rung me. I would of come and picked you up."

"Stop, Simon. I was… fine. Besides, it wasn't like I was in a dark alley. It was broad daylight, and there was a public eye. No worries. I just got a little creeped out." I lie. Which seems what I'm good at, because Simon nods.

Another hour of laughing and _a little_ gossiping makes me forget about the whole fright fest from this morning, but then resurfaces when Simon's phone rings.

Answering, Simon quietly argues down the line, and after a minute cuts off whoever it was and turns to me.

"I'm so sorry, Clare. I need to head out. I'm staying with, well- you remember Jordan, right? Jordan Kyle? I'm staying with him while in New York and he let me borrow his spare key. Turns out the moron lost his and can't get into the apartment. I'm so sorry, Clary. I really want to catch up more… how about tomorrow I take you out for dinner-or-or we can do are weekly sleepover-movie-nights at your place? Well, not the sleepover, but that's still on the table if you wanna-"

I cut Simon off before his hormonal mind can get any further. I know he's joking around though. I chuckled a little. But then it came to an edgy stop when I realised I was going to ask Simon if he could walk me home. And then I was reminded that Jordan's- I remembered, Simon's friend from high school- apartment was on the other side of Brooklyn, in the opposite direction of my home. There would be no point of Simon walking all the way there and back to Jordan's. No matter the panic, I was not going to be rude. What I thought was rude, at least.

"Simon, its fine. I understand. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah? You wanna have the movie night at mine?" I smile. Or try to. Under the frown on fright I was trying to hide.

Kissing my cheek in appreciation and then my forehead, he went to walk out before turning to me.

"I love ya, Clary. I'll see you tomorrow." And with a sly wink, he walks out into the chilly night air.

When walking home, I kept checking behind my back every second, looking for a black hoodie. Nothing. Maybe I imagined it all earlier?

I sighed with relief when I came to the apartment building and started up the steps to the third floor.

The lights were all off when I opened the front door. The only thing outlining the shadows of the furniture, the lamplight form outside. Going to flick on the switch for the hallway, I placed my coat and beanie on the pegs near the front door, then go to turn the switch on with a _click_. But nothing happens. I flick the switch back and forth but none of the lights turn on.

_Oh, how horror-moviely. _I grunt in my head.

Being careful not to trip over the couch, I go in the direction of my room, walking into the wall twice. That's when I notice my bedroom door: Its open. I never leave it open. Never. Ever. It's like a habit. I've never left my bedroom door open, and I remember shutting it before going down to breakfast this morning. _Maybe Jonathan forgot something and came back? He did leave his sweater on my desk chair._

Hoping to find a missing sweater, I walk in, and find the Jon's sweater still neatly folded on my chair.

I gulp with fretful tears. It's almost as if I can feel another presence in the apartment… but no one's here.

Carefully padding into my room the familiar sight of my bed and drawers makes my heart faintly relax. But then my heart rate picks up dangerously when I see what's _on_ my bed: sexy, black lace lingerie. The matching pantie and bra aligned perfectly with the panties at the bottom and the bra on top… the same lingerie the stranger had been gazing at in the window.

And that's when I hear it. The arrogant, evil chuckle. Stifling a cry, partly from wanting someone to save me and partly knowing if I did cry out no one would be able to hear me, I turn around slowly.

And to my utter horror, the guy in the black hoodie is there. Standing behind my door. Hands in his pockets. But instead with the hood up, it's down. Revealing gold hair, tumbling in waves and curls around the tips of his ears and over his forehead.

Struggling with my non nocturnal sight, I see slit, golden eyes staring at my tearful green ones.

Then the figure approaches. Intimidating with the camouflage clothing to the darkness around us and the creep's height.

And then he pulls out something, which I can only guess- and is confirmed:

A gun.

Two words come out of his mouth before I have the nerve to yell.

"Don't scream."


	3. Chapter 3

**IMPORTANT-ISH NOTICE!**

**Hey, my Angels.**

**Just a quick heads up, I really think I really paced this chapter way to quickly and if it doesn't make sense and you don't think I should carry on please with this Fanfic, please tell me.**

**I'm so sorry if it's terrible, but I promise, the other chapters I've planned are not as fast explained as this.**

**I'm really sorry.**

**-Kyla X**

_Previously:_

_And then he pulls out something, which I can only guess- and is confirmed:_

_A gun. Two words come out of his mouth before I have the nerve to yell._

"_Don't scream."_

**CHAPTER 3**

**CLARY'S POV**

Don't scream? Don't scream?! Who wouldn't scream with a probable serial killer standing in their room with a gun in their fricking hand?! Anger bubbled with the fear, and I had to lean the back of my knees against my bed from fainting of a seizure.

The stranger stepped forward a step, the gun in hand but tucked backwards a little, like he wanted to show the device wasn't aimed at me.

_Yeah, right! _

I was on alert, anyway; warning bells going off in my head, deciding if he takes another step, I _will _scream.

"Do you like them?" He says, a stupid smirk on his face. His tawny gaze drew upon the kinky underwear on my bed. The underwear this creep had been staring at through the shop window.

He takes a step to the side, and my mind acknowledging that the direction the creep is making, is _away_ from me, I keep the immense need to scream behind my tongue. Slowly walking to my bed, and me stepping the opposite direction, which happened to be, thankfully, next to my bedroom door, the creep picks up the scrap of lacy material. "Kind of ironic how I had to look through _Ann Summers _window display. I saw these and thought it would look better on you, than that mannequin," He lets the panties fall on the bed from his hand, "Not that I've seen you in your underwear at all." He grins arrogantly… and I scream. As loud as I can. Hoping at least a neighbour can hear me. But my cry only lasts for seconds, until the stranger clamps his hand over my mouth, stifling my escape route.

But then there's a slight pressure being pushed into my back; round and cold… the gun.

"I suggest you don't do that next time," Creep says, and pushes the gun further into my back as an indication, "Now, my beautiful red, we're going to walk down those stairs in _silence_," His cold, callused hands stroke a tender finger down my hot cheek. I shudder. "And I think you know what I'll do if you're not a good girl. And I don't want to hurt you little red. Your too beautiful for that." He encircles his right arm around my waist, his left hand still securely holding the gun. And kisses my neck softly. My stomach agrees with my mind. _I'm going to be sick_. _He must be the most vile person I've ever met._

"You are gorgeous, little red." He husks, and starts moving me forward, arm still circling my waist, hand still holding the gun. We walk down the hall, making to the stairs where I walk carefully, being extra careful not to trip; which was hard considering the creep behind me with his arm around my waist and a gun pointed at my back. Reaching the bottom of the staircase and shifting to the living room, creep slowly spins me around so I'm facing him, but still has an arm wrapped round my waist.

"Don't cry, Clary." He whispers, and using the hand which he is holding the gun with, he stokes my cheek with the pad of his thumb.

The tears which I didn't realise were flowing, started to develop vastly, a tsunami of salt water. _How does he know my name? _

I flinch at the thought and at the contact of the creep's skin on mine. And I didn't understand. It was kind of ironic. The whole reason I hate being on my own and the one night _I am _on my own and Jonathan and mon aren't here, I get kidnapped and most likely molested by a stranger-creep-rapist who happened to followed me to work _and_ knew my name. How did he know my name? My mind went into dangerous mode: thinking with too much depth. Maybe he had been watching me for a while? Watching my patterns; what time I got up for work, what time I left; What time Jonathan and mom left for work.

My over bared questions are stopped; by an earth shattering crash. At which the creep is now stock still and still holding me.

Even though I couldn't see, due to the fact my back was facing the front door, I knew with my sensitive hearing that it was the front door- being smashed down. And a very known voice makes me sob out of relief.

"CLARY?!" Jonathan shouts even though I'm only a few meters away from him.

"Alright, mate?" Creep casually greets, with a sly grin, as if my brother is a close friend. He even extends his hand which is holding the gun, for Jonathan to shake. _What the hell?!_

"What the fuck, Jace?!" Jace?...Wait, Jace?! Jonathan knows him? The creeper who stalked me and put panties and a bra on my bed? I knew Jonathan had low standards when it came to friends… but not _that_ low.

"I know, I know. Meeting and all… but I couldn't stay away. Gorgeous red head and all." Creep must read Jonathan's fuming expression: "Jon, I'm kidding mate, I wasn't ever going to use the gun. Never. Just…having a little fun, as she doesn't _know_."

I'm yanked away and seconds later I'm in my older brothers encase of warm muscular arms. I sob with appreciation again, a few more tears pouring and probably staining Jon's T-shirt.

"J-Jon? What the h-hell? What the hell is going on?" I say between sniffs, the baby tears finally resting to a stop. Jonathan glances down at me through thick lashes, fully anxious and eyes full of love, and kisses my forehead repeatably; but doesn't answer me.

"Answer me, Jace," Jonathan's voice instantly like deathly ice, "We agreed that we would talk _together_ in the presence of my mother and _myself_. And the meeting isn't until next week. What part didn't I make clear that _you weren't allowed to go anywhere near my sister. You would see us when we talked at the meeting. _And what the _fuck_ are you doing with that gun!" Jonathan barks harshly. "I swear to fucking god, if you touched my sister-"

"Whoa there, my love," Jace puts a tanned, long finger over his grinning lips, "Inside voice." He continues.

Jonathan pulls me to the side and steps up to Jace- punching him clear across the mouth. Jon steps back, pacing the living room.

"Well," Jace says, "I guess I deserved that."

After that comment silence follows and my questions still unanswered; causing my fear to decompose, _a little, _and anger to replace. I needed answers. Now.

But that's put to a stop when another crash ricochets off of the living room walls, and my mom walks in flustered and face vexed. She rushes to me, enveloping me in a welcoming hug.

"Clary! Oh god, sweetie, are you okay? I rung Jonathan because Luke had rung _me_ and- I've got 3 speeding tickets from driving so fast and-"

"Mom, Jace thought he'd pay a _threatening _visit to, Clary. I did remind him the meeting wasn't until next week. Did you say you heard from Luke? Mom, this is the whole point we needed to speak with Jace. W-we can't keep Clary here-" Jonathan says, but doesn't finish. My anger levelled up to gas mark _NOT IN THE MOOD._

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?! ANSWER ME!" My outburst gets mom's, Jon's and _Jace's _attention. Good. "I just got stalked and threatened to be shot by this lunatic-"

"Hey! Watch your mouth, lady-" Creeper says, but I continue.

"He threatened me with _a gun. A bloody, god dammed, gun._ And your all on about someone called Luke speaking to both of you and a meeting and not being able to keep me here?" My voice slows, quietens. My voice may be calm, but I was still red hot anger and confusion inside. Despite all the commotion of the last moments, the gun brought an image to the mind; and the scar on my side clenched; remembering _that night. _

_Does this have something to do with it?_

"I know, Clary…I know, sweetie. And me, us," She indicates Jonathan, "Us telling you what we have to tell you… it's not going to make sense; this is conversation is going to be quick and hard to comprehend. And it's going to sound crazy and you'll probably going to hate me…but before I explain anything- I know you have a right not to- but _try_ to keep an open mind. My explanation might bring back memories…or a memory." Mom carries on, her expression sad. _Bring back a memory. _Maybe this was about all those years ago. All of this was happening so fast; from being threatened by this so called Jace, Jon coming to the rescue and talking gibberish and then my mom being brought into the picture, mentioning- no- _implying_ that this has something to do what happened all those years ago…

"_Clary. Clary, baby. Come on baby you're okay. You're okay. You're going to be okay." Mommy whispers while stroking my curls from my face. I watch my mommy's green eyes and Valentine's coal ones watch my still form until I couldn't hold my gaze open anymore. The last thing I hear is my mums heart wrenching wails as darkness takes over me-_

"I-I just _don't understand._ Just answer my questions- _truthfully. _And for a start, who the hell is _he," _ I point an accusing finger at Jace.

_Huh. Normal name for a psychopath,_

"And why does he have a gun; which he brutally bullied me with. As importantly, how does he know you? How does he know me?"

Both Jon and mom had a guilty pain look on their face, and my mind tried unravelling and wondering why those expressions were there.

Though that's all cut off with creep's voice.

" '_Brutally bullied'? _That's a little dramatic, little red. I didn't even harm you- well, I think I didn't. And my name is Jace. Would you like me to write it down for you? Maybe include my number?" His crafty grin wants me to throttle him. Maybe even use his gun myself.

"Jace Herondale!" My mother scolds. "You will behave yourself. I would kick you out this instance but I need your help and your father reluctantly gave us his aid and support. And honestly… you've all I got."

Pacing then gracefully but with rigidness taking a seat on the couch, mom pats the space next to her, the shame shone with clarity on her pale, beautiful face.

"I'm going to explain everything, Clary. Everything. And…" She trails off, keeping her eyes on the rug at her feet. "And everything undoubtedly won't make sense. But you need to understand-" Mom sucks in a sob, and I notice only now, with the lights radiance, that silver, silent tears are falling down her cheeks.

"I was going to tell you- explain. But my excuse to myself over the years was that you were to young, that all of us were safe… for now. But… we're not anymore. And this- young man- Jace is here to help us. More suitably, help _you_." Another sob. "Because I can't protect you on my own, Clary. I'm not fit- job wise- in a situation like this. P-please. I'll explain. I promise you. The truth, but you may not like it. And after…you may not like me."

Mom's words tattoo themselves into my overworking mind, permanently drawn so my mind has to ponder and solve of what she was trying to say.

Looking at mom now, the tears still dropping mutely, I feel guilt is well; for my sudden outburst. _You may not like me? _But it was meant to be said. Otherwise we would have gotton nowhere. Without and with haste, I pad over to the couch and take a seat next to mom, the cushion under my backside a sought of comfort. Mom takes my hand, giving it an affectionate squeeze.

"I'm listening."

And mom begins.

***LINE BREAK***

**IMPORTANT…ISH NOTICE!...Again**

**HELLO MY BEAUTIFUL ANGELS!**

**Thank you so, so, so, so, so, sooo much for reviewing! It makes feels amazing to know that you're enjoying this Fanfic. **

**And yeees, another kind of cliff-hanger, and I do apologise if its eating at your brain.**

**But I do hope you like this chapter- but I do think it's a little boring. The next chapter obviously takes off from where this chapter ends, and will explain EVERYTHING. EVRYTHING. **

**If you did enjoy this chapter (I know I bug you about it) but please, please, please, please review! Even if you write one word. It still means a lot. **

**And to answer someone's question: No, Jace will not be a creepy stalker throughout now and this Fanfic now. Although he will be using a great amount of his testosterone. VERBALLY! I meant verbally…;)**

**Anyway, yeah. Please REVIEW and favourite **_**if **_**you liked this chapter and think I should continue.**

**Much, much, much love,**

**-Kyla X**


	4. Chapter 4

_Previously:_

_Mom takes my hand, giving it an affectionate squeeze._

"_I'm listening."_

_And mom begins._

_*_**LINE BREAK***

**CHAPTER 4**

**CLARY' POV**

I waited patiently. At least I tried to. I needed mom's explanation to all of this. All of it. And a part of me tolerantly postponed, knowing that this explanation was going to take a while for me to understand. Another reason I was being patient was because I was scared. Scared because I didn't know what mom's clarification was going to consist of. The only clue I had of what was about to come in this conversation, was the fact that it had something to do with the accident. Thinking of _that night_ brought flashes of recollection; painful and vivid. But the memory is put to a stop though, because mom starts.

"Okay. So where to start-" Mom says, but is interrupted- by none other than Jon, who was only a second ago leaning against the living room mantelpiece, and was now planting himself next to me on the couch, reaching for my hand and giving it an affectionate squeeze.

"There's no point of taking this conversation slow, mom. We haven't got time. And either way, if you do talk through this leisurely, or if you confess in one amount, she's gonna feel many things- most of all flabbergasted." Jonathan finishes, and to kill the intensity, Jace does what apparently does best- be an absolute pillock.

Jace snorts. "I can't believe you said 'flabbergasted'. You puff."

At this, Jonathan throws Jace an ugly scowl, which the blonde moron only smirks at.

"Your right," Mom continues, as if no immaturity went on, "God your right."

She smooth's her delicate hands over her face, her uneasiness shown with perfect clarity. But despite it, she keeps going, talking to me. And listens to my brother by getting straight to the point. And it brings a pain to the scar on my side.

"I know… I know you remember that night, sweetie." A sob escapes her mouth. "I remember when I heard the gun shot, and-and it happened so fast."

A few silent tears trickle down my cheeks. Mom doesn't stop though.

"One of _his_ minions had you over his shoulder. And-and I was just terrified they were hurting you. I-I should never of told them to shoot-"

"Mom," I interrupt, wiping the wet trail from previous ears, "I know."

Jonathan squeezes my hand again.

"Ever heard of the mafia?" Jace interjects tiredly.

"For fucks sake, Jace!" Jonathan booms, and my mother pouts- no doubt at Jon's foul language.

"Jonathan! Mouth!" Mom yells.

Jonathan cowers. "Sorry." But his eyes are still half-full of rage. And my mind is whirling around Jace's question. Mafia? As in the mob? As in Italian gangsters from those cheesy movies? That mafia?

Jace must notice the pondering look on my face-or he could just read my mind- because then he clarifies.

"Mafia," He goes, "As in an organised international body of criminals. Usually have a complex and ruthless behavioural code."

"I know," I say, "I-I know what the mafia is."

Jace snickers. "Don't get ahead of yourself, we're not Italian goofballs. Have you ever met a Italian whose naturally blonde and incredibly good looking?" He swipes his hair back, indicating himself. And I really feel like indicating _my_ view of him with a punch. And then I realise his referral: _we're. _As in- he's in the mafia?

Either way, he ignores my angry gaze and carry's on. "How about I explain it for you- quickly and simply." He makes himself comfortable on the couch opposite to where I was sat, laying down and flinging his legs over the arm of the sofa. "I-my godly self- who I haven't introduced properly, am Jace Herondale," A mischievous flick of his eyes to mine, "Nice to meet you."

I feel my mom and Jonathan tense next to me.

"Your mother was taking her time, longer than my grandmother trying to remember my name- and she's dead." He then sits up, fluidly and with stealth. "And me and _you_ are on a tight schedule so this needs to wrap up. So let's get to the fact that I'm a member of the _Herondale_ Mafia, of which my father is in charge of."

"Jace-" Jonathan intrudes.

"No, Jon. I'm serious. It's like ripping of a bandage. It's now or never…as I was saying. Let's just say your _father_ isn't a big fan of our cooperation.

My mind was a hurricane, trying to supress information I yet to understand.

"And the feelings mutual…your father is the boss of the_ Morgenstern_ Mafia, blah, blah, blah- you obviously know why you don't live with your father- or… don't you?" Jace's eyes are curious, and they glance between my mom and Jonathan. I thought for a moment. I didn't know much about my dad- just that my dad left us when I was pretty young, one or two at the most. I never cared to know why, just knowing that your father never wanted you was enough. But it seems something else… is going on. Or went on. Considering Jace's talking of the mafia. The mafia?! Really?!

_What? Are we in a cliché action movie? _Whichever way, I needed my answers. Now.

Mom abruptly gets out of her chair and Jonathans eyes are and ocean of dark sympathy. Minutes of awkward silence follows, no movement except for mom's hassled pacing.

And then she speaks.

"Jace is right." The pacing stops, replaced with hands on her hips. "Your- your father plays a dangerous game, Clary. And I never wanted you or your brother to be a part of it…so I took us away. Where he couldn't find us."

I feel Jonathan shift a little, and look at the ground with guiltiness- he must know something. About this.

"Your father- Valentine- is the boss and in charge of the _Morgenstern _Mafia… you obviously know what the mafia is, hence why I kept my children away. But when I left… I took something with me- including you two, which was why the _accident_ took place all those years ago, but I also took something else- something that belonged to the mafia."

I go to ask what the other thing was, but raises her hand.

"No- let me finish, Clary." She walks to the dining table and pulls out the chair, taking a seat. "I-I don't know why I did it…I knew my reason of taking _it_ was because of my jealousy- he was spending more time with work than you and Jonathan. And me. I just- I just wanted to give payback…almost." More awkward shifting.

"All of that leads to why- what Jace put out rightly- Jace has to protect you…that thing I stole from Valentine…he wants it back Clary…and I took it. That's why he came all those years ago, and not just to get his children back, but to get back what I stole… but that's the problem, _I don't know where it is_." She looks up at me, her eyes grave, "But you do."

I hold my breath. My mind stopping its function for a second. _But you do._

I'm-I'm pretty sure I don't! I would remember something like that…wouldn't I?

"When we moved into our first apartment, I knew that wouldn't be our first home. We'd always be on the move. But we haven't moved since your accident, and that year… I gave the thing I stole…to you. I was an idiot for giving it to you, sweetie, don't get me wrong,… but you were only 6. You would probably forget all about it by the time you were 14. Since you were that young, giving you the _thing_ was easier… because if Valentine came and asked for it back…I wouldn't know where it would be." Mom starts crying again, quietly. But I'm sure there guilty tears; there's no sobbing.

"So, when I gave it to you, I told you t-that we were going to play hide and seek- but this game would be different because you would be hiding _that_ thing instead of hiding yourself…and that when you did…you 'weren't allowed to tell mommy'. And then a few months later was when the accident happened, and you…were s-shot…your case was not life threatening- thank god- the bullet had only lodged shallowly, but from the medication and from hitting your head, you had a mild case of amnesia… which lead you to forgetting… where you hid the stolen item."

Mom looks me carefully in the eye.

"And now he's on a rampage-with his members, to try and get it back…but the problem is, visibly, is that you don't remember…and I'm scared, baby. He may be your father but he's a mafia commander is well… and he won't think twice before torturing you to try and remember." Tears for again.

"So, that's why Jace is here, considering he is from the _Herondale _mafia, and their corporation isn't too fond of the Morgenstern firm either, they're going to help me… as a team. And there help… came in form…as Jace." Mom's eyes flick to Jace's and he winks at me.

"Jace is skilled and has pledged for the unknown amount of time to take care of you while we try to figure out how to stop Valentine. Me and Jonathan will be in hiding. But…you will be on the road with Jace. I know it's not the most thing you want… considering your first greeting,… but him and his father have agreed to take care of you Clary. And I need the aid. Because I'm useless on my own."

And her explanation is done. Finished. And I don't think I can breathe.

Surprisingly, I understood. My mother's level to protect me, and my head has only just got round the mafia thing, but being with Jace…why couldn't I stay with mom?

"Why can't I stay with you?" My voice comes out a croak, and three pairs of shocked eyes bore into me, no doubt from doubt because I'm not screaming the building down. But I understood, or at least try to.

"The first thing Valentine will think is that you would be with us. He has no idea mom has connections with the Herondales." Jonathan speaks for the first time; he looks sad.

"Oh…okay." I finalize. "Okay."

"Okay?" All three of them say at the same time. I would of laughed if the situation was different.

"Okay. My-my mind is still unravelling this, don't get me wrong…but I'll do whatever you want…even if it means going on a road trip with him." I shove a thumb at _him: _Jace. "And that speech only took 15 minutes long." I wheeze.

Mom and Jonathan laugh lightly. Jace stands up, rubbing his palms together.

"Okay, then… so you all better get some rest. Me and little red should be on the road by 6."

I scowl.

"Thank you, for your help." My brother says to Jace.

"Don't sweat it." Jace rolls his shoulders.

Mom then turns to me, tucking a strand of red hair behind my ear.

"I love you, sweetie…so much." She breathes. "Now go get some rest. Mr Herondale is right." Mom kisses my hair and her and Jonathan go to Jace, which I assume is to discuss final arrangements.

I make for the stairs, my head still swimming from an overload of information. And when I get to my bedroom and about to close the door, Mr prick himself calls up to me from the living room.

"'Night, little red!"

And in return, I slam the door shut.

***LINE BREAK***

**Hey Angels.**

**So, I really hate this chapter. Mostly because it's too fast paced.**

**So tell me if you hate it or like it by REVIEWING please. **

**And tell me if you would like me to continue. **

**I promise this story won't drop and the pace in the next and future chapters will be perfecto ;)**

**-Kyla X**


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